


Put a Little Hope in Me

by shions_heart



Series: omam verse [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Crushes, Emotional bonding, First Crush, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kozume Kenma has never had a crush before. But that changes when he meets Akaashi Keiji, a lonely recluse in need of a friend.</p><p>A companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5478908/chapters/12660152">Of Monsters and Men</a>, set beforehand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put a Little Hope in Me

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend Rem commissioned me to write about how Kenma and Akaashi met before the events of "Of Monsters and Men" take place.
> 
> So here is their story.
> 
> Enjoy!

Kenma is fifteen when he first meets Akaashi Keiji. His grandmother asks him to help her take a box of herbs and spell books to a customer’s house. He’s not quite sure he understands why they need to deliver it, seeing as that’s a service they don’t generally offer. But he knows better than to complain to his grandmother, so he simply helps her carry the boxes to her small, two-door compact car and wonders if the person in question doesn’t have a car.

When they pull up to the large suburban house, complete with a front yard with a fence and two car garage, Kenma thinks there’s no way the person who lives here doesn’t own a car. Which means they’re just being lazy. Now Kenma knows he can’t really talk about laziness (his best friend Yaku Morisuke is always berating him for being lazy), but considering he’s not being lazy _now_ , he feels a right to be irritated. Besides, his grandmother isn’t a young woman. Carrying these boxes can’t be good for her back and joints.

Kenma’s face settles into a frown, as he and his grandmother step up onto the porch, and she rings the doorbell. The door opens just a crack, and Kenma’s frown deepens.

“Who is it?” A voice from inside asks, soft and young.

“Kozume-san from The Black Cat,” Kenma’s grandmother answers. “We have your delivery.”

The door opens wider, and a young man steps into view. Kenma’s surprised to see that he’s not much older than himself, perhaps a year, if that. He’s also taken aback by how beautiful he is. With pale skin and dark curling hair, Kenma’s pretty sure he could pass as a model. And when he lifts his eyes, framed with long lashes, his eyes are a deep, intense green. He meets Kenma’s gaze, and he feels the need to suddenly hide. Shrinking back behind his grandmother, he lowers his head to allow his hair to swing forward, obscuring his face.

“Thank you,” the young man says. “Please, come in. You can set them down in the living room.”

Kenma’s grandmother bows slightly, before stepping into the house. Kenma follows close behind her, keeping his eyes on the top of the box in his arms.

“Would you care for some tea?” the young man asks politely. “I’ve just brewed some.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Kenma’s grandmother says, setting her box down on the coffee table in the living area before turning to look at Kenma. “Go fetch the other box from the car.”

Kenma nods, setting his own box down before hurrying to the door. He feels somewhat lightheaded, though he’s not sure why. He gets the third box and walks back to the house, his face warm. He doesn’t make eye contact with the young man as he passes him, placing the box on top of the other.

“Here, for your trouble.” The young man sets a tray beside the boxes, three cups of steaming tea atop it. Kenma notices that he’s wearing black gloves that cover his wrists and disappear beneath the sleeves of his blue yukata. (That’s another surprise. Kenma’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone wear a yukata these days outside of matsuris.) “I apologize for making you come all this way.”

“Are you agoraphobic?” Kenma asks, receiving a glare from his grandmother.

“Hush, child,” she says, before turning to the young man. “I apologize for my grandson’s rudeness.”

The young man shakes his head. “It’s all right. I’m not agoraphobic, I just . . . I don’t have a driver’s license. I’m only sixteen.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Why can’t your parents drive you?” Kenma asks, not about to let this go when it’s obvious to him that this guy is young enough and strong enough to carry boxes, and considering the size of the house and the garage, he doesn’t see why his parents couldn’t have helped him.

Lowering his gaze, the young man reaches for one of the cups. “They . . . don’t live here anymore.”

“Oh.” Kenma winces, as his grandmother reaches across to smack the back of his head.

“Apologize to this nice young man.”

“I’m sorry . . .” he bows his head, trailing off when he realizes he doesn’t know the young man’s name.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Now I’m the one who’s rude. My name is Akaashi.”

“I’m sorry, Akaashi-san,” Kenma says, his cheeks burning. He picks up the last cup of tea, sipping it quietly as his grandmother makes small talk with Akaashi, asking him why he needs such advanced spell books when he’s so young.

“I crave knowledge,” Akaashi says in reply. “Being here alone gives me much free time, and I’ve begun to fill my time learning new things.”

“Well, I do hope you’ll be careful,” Kenma’s grandmother says, as she finishes her tea and sets down the cup. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I must return to the shop.” She stands and bows.

Kenma mirrors her, and Akaashi walks the two of them to the door. “Thank you again for your service,” Akaashi says, as they step outside. He bows. “I also enjoyed your company.” As he straightens, he gives Kenma a tiny smile. “Perhaps I will see you again some time.”

Kenma quickly looks away, his neck and ears feeling hot once more. He hurries down the porch and pathway to the edge of the gate, telling himself not to look back. He can feel Akaashi’s eyes on him still, even as he opens the car door and slips inside. As his grandmother starts the car, he chances a glance out the window. Akaashi stands in his doorway, still as a marble statue, one gloved hand on the door frame. Their eyes meet, and Akaashi lifts his hand in a wave, but Kenma turns his eyes forward, not sure why his heart is pounding faster in his chest.

 

 **Mori**  
_so what was so weird about the guy?_ (20:05)

>> _idk just weird. Looking at him felt weird_ (20:05)

 **Mori**  
_weird how?_ (20:06)

>> _idk. . ._ (20:06)

 **Mori**  
_well, what did his aura look like?_ (20:08)

>> _oh. I didn’t see one. I didn’t even sense one_ (20:09)

 **Mori**  
_maybe that’s why it felt weird. Maybe he was blocking you_ (20:09)

>> _I didn’t know you could block your own aura_ (20:09)

 **Mori**  
_it’s very advanced level magic. Maybe you could ask him about it next time you make a delivery._ (20:10)

>> _no. I’m not going back there_ (20:10)

 

“Grandson! Put down that duster and come here. I have a delivery for you to make.”

Kenma cringes inwardly, setting down the feather duster in his hand and walking around the shelf to where his grandmother stands holding a package wrapped in brown paper. Kenma knows who it’s for before he even looks at the label and sees the name “Akaashi-san” scrawled in his grandmother’s neat handwriting.

“I don’t want to,” he says immediately.

“Child, I do not have the time to deliver this myself. It’s about to rain and my joints are aching. I want to finish up here so I can go home. It’s a small package, you can put it in your backpack and take the bus.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose. He hates taking the bus. There’s always people pressing in around him, and without Mori to act as a buffer, he’s afraid of being jostled, of being touched. It’s difficult enough to keep the pulsating colors of everyone’s aura from overwhelming him. With Mori, he can focus on his PSP, drown out everything else, and Mori doesn’t let him miss his stop. 

Mori says that with more practice he’ll be able to block everyone’s auras out unless he wants to sense and see them. It’s one of the things he’s learning at The Nekoma Institute of Magic. All magic users can sense and see people’s auras, but for some reason Kenma was born unusually sensitive to them. It worsens whenever he’s touched, so he tries his best to avoid people touching him (that and he just doesn’t like people in his personal space in general).

“Go and be back to help me close the shop.” His grandmother shoves the parcel at him, and he catches it before it can drop. It’s heavy.

“What’s in here?”

“Jars of pickled animal hearts.”

“Ew.” Kenma will never understand why magic requires such disgusting ingredients.

His grandmother waves her hands at him. “Shoo.”

Kenma carries the package over to his backpack, carefully setting it inside. He moves his homework to another pocket just in case the package leaks. He hefts it carefully onto his back, and heads out the door.

The sky is dark with heavy clouds. A distant roll of thunder makes him hunch forward, shoulders rising to his ears, as his heart pounds faster. He’s not sure when he developed a fear of thunderstorms. It’s possible it came about when he was six and both his parents were gone to work, leaving him with a babysitter who spent most of the night on the phone. A storm had come, frightening him, but he didn’t want to bother the sitter, so he huddled beneath his covers with his hands over his ears, wishing his mother would appear to tell him everything would be okay. 

She didn’t.

He doesn’t like to think about it.

It’s just beginning to rain, as he steps up to Akaashi’s door and rings the doorbell. He shivers in the cold wind that blows by, sprinkling him with droplets carried with it. The door opens and Akaashi stands there, looking just as beautiful as Kenma remembered, this time wearing a green yukata that matches his eyes. His hands are still gloved, and his eyes widen when he sees Kenma standing there.

“Kozume-san! I wasn’t expecting a delivery so soon. I just made my order an hour ago.”

Kenma doesn’t reply, simply takes off his backpack and pulls the package from it, offering it to Akaashi without meeting his gaze.

“Oh. Thank you.” Akaashi takes it carefully, avoiding contact with Kenma’s hands.

Kenma quickly picks up his backpack again and turns to leave.

“Wait!”

Kenma freezes, biting his lip. He picks at the skin around his fingernails, not sure what to expect. He doesn’t turn around even when Akaashi speaks again.

“Please, come in. I can’t let you walk back in this weather.”

Kenma’s stomach flutters. He quickly presses his fist against it. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, but it’s not one he’s particularly comfortable with either. It’s completely foreign to him.

“Kozume-san, please.”

Kenma glances over his shoulder. Akaashi has taken a step out of the doorway toward him, one gloved hand outstretched. Kenma looks at that hand, his breath catching in his throat. He’s only ever been alone with a boy his age when he goes to Mori’s house, and he’s been friends with Mori since he was eight. And he’s never felt this weird around Mori either. He kind of feels like running away, but just then a streak of lightning lights up the sky, followed by a loud burst of thunder. He flinches automatically, the rain pounding harder against the ground.

“Kozume-san.”

There’s no inflection in Akaashi’s voice. Nothing to tell Kenma if he has nefarious plans or not. He doesn’t _look_ strong enough to hurt Kenma, but Kenma’s not very strong or big himself. He tells himself he’s being ridiculous, that such worst-case scenarios are unfounded when Akaashi’s been nothing but kind to him so far. But the fact that he can’t sense or see Akaashi’s aura makes him nervous.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he decides to ask plainly, watching Akaashi’s expression closely.

He appears startled, eyes flying wide. “Why would I hurt you?”

Kenma tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, staring down at the wooden boards of the porch. “I can’t sense your aura.”

“Oh.” Akaashi hesitates. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually . . .” He looks past Kenma’s shoulder to the rain. “If I show you my aura, will you come inside.”

Kenma lifts his head, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe . . .”

Akaashi smiles faintly. He closes his eyes then, breathing in through his nose and then out through his mouth slowly. Kenma watches, as a shimmering gold appears, hovering over his skin. It’s thick, strong, but throughout it Kenma can see flickers of black, something dark moving beneath the gold.

_He’s tainted by something . . ._

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Akaashi’s features twitch, and another boom of thunder shakes the porch. Kenma starts, biting his lip. Before Akaashi can reply, he moves past him into the house, kicking off his shoes and taking his backpack off to hug it against his chest. He can’t see Akaashi’s aura anymore, but what he sensed didn’t tell him Akaashi was evil or anything. In fact, it seemed warm, almost comforting in a way. Powerful, yet gentle. The darkness is probably something concerning, but it hovered deep enough that Kenma’s sure it’s nothing he has to worry about in the brief time he’ll be stuck there. 

Akaashi shuts the door. “Please, make yourself comfortable? I’ll set this in the study and put on some tea.”

Kenma nods, moving to the couch in the living room. He curls up in one corner of it, digging his PSP out of his backpack and turning it on. When Akaashi comes back he doesn’t attempt to speak to Kenma, simply moves on to the kitchen. He can hear him moving about, probably preparing the tea, and he pulls his knees closer to his chest. The coolness of the room’s interior doesn’t help his damp state, and he finds himself shivering after a few minutes.

“Would you like a blanket?”

Kenma starts, as Akaashi suddenly appears beside the couch. Forcing his racing heart to calm, he nods, biting his lip. Akaashi sets the tray of tea down on the coffee table, before moving to reach toward the back of the couch. Kenma leans away, but Akaashi doesn’t attempt to touch him. Instead, he lifts the blanket that hangs over the couch, pulling it off and settling it on Kenma’s lap.

Kenma slowly pulls it around himself, burrowing into it. Akaashi offers him a teacup, forcing Kenma to set down his PSP, but he doesn’t mind when he’s replacing it with something warm to hold.

Akaashi takes a seat across from him in a wing-backed chair.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Akaashi says after another few seconds of silence.

Kenma shakes his head, sipping the tea. It’s quite good, and it has an apple-like taste to it. It makes him think of apple pie, and it smells like cinnamon, taking that resemblance further. It’s comforting, and Kenma finds himself starting to relax, despite the noise of the storm outside.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Ah, only a year younger than myself. I don’t know many boys my age anymore. Not since I left school.”

Kenma wonders if he should ask why Akaashi left, but he feels like that’s connected to the darkness he saw, and he doesn’t want to bring that up just in case it turns out being something actually dangerous. He’d like to stay comfortable in his ignorance a little while longer.

“You can ask me a question now, if you’d like.” Akaashi offers in the quiet that follows his previous statement.

Kenma bites back his immediate response, his face feeling warm. _You can’t ask if he has a boyfriend. He’s probably straight anyway. And he’s weird._ Willing his stomach to stop squirming, Kenma takes another sip of his tea, using it as an excuse to give himself more time to think.

“Why did your parents leave?”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d ask me something like ‘what are your hobbies,’” Akaashi admits, smiling weakly.

Kenma simply blinks at him, wondering if that’s part of the darkness too.

“My mother’s pregnant. They left to the country so she could have fresher air. I stayed to look after the house.” Akaashi’s face is impassive, revealing nothing, but Kenma can’t help but feel like he isn’t telling the whole truth. He’s not sure why, it’s just a gut instinct he has, and his instincts aren’t usually wrong.

“Do you get lonely?” he asks, wondering if he can keep Akaashi talking long enough to learn his verbal and physical ticks. He’s a difficult person to read, but Kenma can’t help but be interested. He wants to know if Akaashi is dangerous or not.

“Yes. All the time,” Akaashi replies quietly, and this time Kenma can tell he’s speaking the truth. 

A small twinge enters his chest, a pang of familiarity. He knows well what it’s like to be lonely. It’s not a nice feeling. No wonder he begged Kenma to stay. If he could, Kenma would make Mori stay at his place all the time. But he doesn’t want to be a burden on his best friend. Still, it doesn’t make Mori’s departure any easier when he has to leave, and Kenma’s stomach always drops to his toes whenever he does.

“My parents work a lot. I get lonely too.” Kenma’s not sure why he’s giving this information, but when he sees the way Akaashi’s eyes light up, like he’s just found a kindred spirit, a possible shared experience on which to build a friendship, he can’t help but like it.

“Perhaps . . . perhaps when you get lonely, you can come to visit.” It’s a tentative offer, but Akaashi keeps his gaze on Kenma’s face, never wavering, even when Kenma’s face heats up, and he has to advert his eyes.

“Um.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Of course you don’t need to come over. I’ll admit, I’m quite a boring person. I mostly spend my time studying. You probably wouldn’t enjoy yourself.” Akaashi shakes his head, lowering his gaze then, as he folds his gloved fingers together around his teacup.

Kenma doesn’t reply. He glances at his PSP beside him. He can’t help but think that having someone to spend time with that requires no expending of energy sounds nice. He kinda likes the thought of being able to just sit and play his PSP while Akaashi studies. The two of them quiet and comfortable in their silence, perhaps occasionally speaking but neither of them feeling the pressure to do so. Mori is good giving him the quiet he craves, but he also knows that his friend isn’t naturally quiet. He’s seen him yelling enough at and with other boys at school to know that Mori enjoys it. He’s the perfect quiet study partner, but Kenma feels bad whenever Mori suggests they go out someplace, and Kenma declines.

Akaashi’s still waiting for his answer. He doesn’t say so, but Kenma can tell he’s nervous by the way his finger is tapping absently on his cup. Strangely, he feels like placing his hand over Akaashi’s to make him stop. Not because it’s annoying him, but simply to reassure him that it’s okay. 

What a weird feeling.

“Okay.”

Akaashi’s head comes up quickly. His finger stops. “Okay?”

Kenma nods. Akaashi smiles, a real smile that lights up his entire face and makes his eyes sparkle. Kenma quickly finishes his tea, ignoring the burn on his throat.

He forgets about the darkness, and the storm outside fades to a soft rain. 

 

When his grandmother next needs to make a delivery to Akaashi’s place, Kenma doesn’t wait for her to ask before he snatches the parcel from her hands and hurries out the door. He’s not sure why his heart is thrumming in anticipation, or why his fingers tremble on the brown paper of the package, but as he sits on the bus, he feels _excited_. He’s never felt excited before. About anything.

The first thing he hears when he approaches Akaashi’s door is the faint sound of a violin from within the house. He pauses to listen, not recognizing the piece but able to admire the skill set of the violinist. He wonders if that’s Akaashi playing or simply a recording of someone else. His question is answered when he rings the doorbell and the music stops. He takes a small step back, steeling himself for the moment when Akaashi answers the door.

He’s still not prepared when it opens, and Akaashi smiles at him. He’s wearing a dark brown yukata today, with a pattern of owls on it in beige. His hakama is black and tied expertly with the obi. Kenma still has trouble tying his own on matsuri days. Mori usually has to help him.

“Why do you wear those all the time?” he asks, skipping the pleasantries as he steps past Akaashi and kicks off his shoes. 

Akaashi seems startled by the casual nature of his entrance, but he composes himself, as he shuts the door. “I find them easier to move around in than while wearing jeans, and I like the large sleeves. They allow me to do this.” He pulls his hands inside the sleeves, and Kenma can’t help but grin.

When Akaashi’s hands come back out, Kenma notices that he’s not wearing gloves. He holds out the package, and Akaashi takes it carefully, again not allowing their fingers to touch. Kenma wonders if he’d mind Akaashi touching him.

“Would you like to see my library?” Akaashi asks after a moment of silence.

Kenma nods, glad for an excuse to stay longer. Akaashi walks further into the house, past the living area and entrance to the kitchen, down into a hallway with several doors. He chooses the third one on the left, opening it and allowing Kenma to pass in front of him to step inside. Immediately Kenma is impressed. It’s an expansive room that stretches out before him. Directly across is a large window that takes up most of the wall. Curving outward, it holds a cushioned window seat, and there are several books already scattered in front of the pillows. On either side of the window are bookshelves, and the two walls beside them also hold shelves stretching from floor to ceiling with wheeled ladders attached to them. 

In the center of the room is a desk with a laptop placed in its center, and several notebooks and sketchbooks set beside it. A desk lamp also sits there. To Kenma’s right is a baby grand piano, and to his left is a record player. The room is carpeted, and the deep red fibers feel soft beneath Kenma’s feet as he ventures further into the room. It has a warm feeling, a cozy and comfortable one. He can imagine himself curled up on that window seat playing one of his games for hours. The curtains that hang drawn are also a dark red with a black pattern, but Kenma can’t tell what that pattern is from where he stands.

“This is where I spend most of my time studying,” Akaashi admits, setting the package down on the desk. “I do online classes for university.”

Kenma’s impressed. Only sixteen and already enrolled in university? He wonders how smart Akaashi actually is. He ventures further into the room, inspecting the books on the shelves. They’re in alphabetical order by author and although there are some modern authors most are classics, even translated ones from English. Kenma recognizes some Shakespeare and Homer, though he hasn’t read much of their works.

He’s surprised to find there aren’t many books on magic or spell books, and Akaashi catches his perplexed expression.

“You’re wondering where all my orders from your shop go,” he guesses with a faint smile.

Kenma nods. When Akaashi beckons, he follows him over to the baby grand piano. Akaashi holds up a finger and raises an eyebrow as if to say “watch this,” before he places his hands on the keys and plays a short melody. The lower half of the bookshelf closest to them creaks and shudders before slowly opening inward, revealing a flight of stairs descending into a lower room. He turns to Akaashi, blinking.

Akaashi smiles back at him. “This house is actually quite old. My great-grandfather put this room down here. There’s rumors he entered into contracts with demons, but I’ve just been using it for my own research.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Are you afraid of dark, enclosed spaces?”

Kenma shakes his head. He’s hidden beneath Mori’s bed before. He finds comfort in such places. Akaashi turns and heads down into the secret stairwell, Kenma on his heels. It opens up into a wider area, and Akaashi reaches toward the wall to turn on the light. This room looks much closer to what Kenma was expecting. There’s a cauldron on a table in the center of the room, with books stacked around it, a few lying open. Scattered notes litter the desk and floor, and the shelves on the walls are full of jars and boxes. Kenma recognizes a few books as being from The Black Cat. He remembers cataloging them when they came in from his grandmother’s seller.

“What are you researching?” he asks.

Something briefly flickers across Akaashi’s features, a shadow, something Kenma doesn’t quite catch before it’s replaced by Akaashi’s usual placid expression.

“Various things,” he says lightly, stepping over to the table and shutting one of the books. “Magic doesn’t come to me as easily as it does others. I have to practice and work hard for the skills I possess.” He smiles faintly. “It gets tedious some days, but seeing the results . . . well, here, I’ll show you.”

Lifting his hand, Akaashi looks down at it, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. He murmurs an incantation, speaking too softly for Kenma to hear the words, but as he watches a ball of light begins to form, hovering just above Akaashi’s palm. It’s golden light shimmers and pulsates slightly like a heartbeat. Within it, Kenma can see some tendrils of other colors, reds and blues and greens, some black as well. It looks familiar, and when he shoots a startled look up at Akaashi, he nods in confirmation.

“Yes, it’s a physical manifestation of my aura. Just a tiny piece, but if weaponized it can create an explosion large enough to destroy this entire block.” He murmurs another phrase, and the light sinks back into his skin.

Kenma stares, never having seen anything like that before. He wonders just how powerful Akaashi is. Somewhat cowed by this display of ability, he turns his gaze to the floor, biting his lip gently.

“I can’t do anything like that,” he admits. 

“Do you want to?” Akaashi asks curiously. “I could teach you.”

Kenma shrugs slightly. “I’d have no use for it. At school we just learn how to bless and curse things for the hunters to use.”

“It’s important to know how to defend yourself.”

“I take the self-defense class, and I have a friend who helps me.”

Akaashi smiles. “You have other friends? I’m glad to hear it.”

Kenma shrugs again. Stepping over to the cauldron to peer into it, he wrinkles his nose slightly at the faint stench emanating from the murky brown contents. “I have one more. Well, maybe another. This new kid at school keeps following me around asking questions about everything. He’s annoying.”

“I don’t blame him for finding you interesting.”

Glancing up, Kenma catches the fond look in Akaashi’s eyes before it’s carefully slipped behind the mask. His cheeks feel warm, and he turns from the table to head back toward the stairs. Akaashi follows him, turning off the light and closing the bookcase door behind them, as they step back out into the library. Akaashi lingers back near the piano, as Kenma steps toward the library door. He stops, glancing back to see Akaashi twisting his fingers absently in front of him. He moves them behind his back when he notices they've caught Kenma’s attention.

“Do you have to go now?” he asks.

Kenma hesitates, thinking of the homework he still hasn’t started, the new level on his game he’s nearly reached, and the fact that he was supposed to return to the shop after making the delivery. As much as he’d like to stay, he realizes he doesn’t really want his grandmother to come looking for him. There’s something about his time with Akaashi he wants to keep a secret, or at least away from others. Only his. His safe place.

“I can come back,” he offers then.

Akaashi’s face brightens. “I’ll look forward to that,” he says genuinely.

Kenma ducks his head and turns back to the door. Akaashi follows him out, walking him to the front door and standing aside, as Kenma pulls his shoes back on. He stands slowly, and Akaashi opens the door for him. 

“Take care, Kozume-san,” he says, and Kenma hurries out before his face can heat up again.

The next time, he doesn’t wait for a delivery to see Akaashi. He takes his homework, and his game, places them in his backpack, and heads over to Akaashi’s right after school. Mori asked him where he was going, to which Kenma only replied, “Akaashi’s,” with no further explanation.

This becomes a habit. Although he still spends time with Mori (and now Haiba, seeing as the younger boy won’t leave him alone. Though Kenma reluctantly admits to himself he likes the attention), he goes over to Akaashi’s place at least twice a week. They don’t always talk. Sometimes Akaashi’s in the middle of studying, so Kenma will sit nearby with his own work or his game, and they’ll spend his entire time there in comfortable silence. Sometimes Akaashi will make tea, and they’ll discuss their interests and dislikes over the steaming cups.

Kenma finds he likes Akaashi’s smile the best. It’s warm and soft, and a tiny dimple appears just near his mouth. He has yet to hear him laugh, but he decides he might not be able to handle Akaashi laughing so it’s okay.

A couple months pass this way, and Kenma’s birthday approaches. Akaashi’s perceptive gaze catches his fidgeting throughout their time together, until eventually he sets down his pencil and turns to face Kenma more fully.

“Kozume-kun, I can sense your anxiety. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Kenma bites his lip, continuing to stare down at his PSP. “My mom said I could have some people over for my birthday. I . . . wanted to invite you . . .”

“Oh.”

Kenma glances up to see the flicker of regret on Akaashi’s features, before it disappears behind a small, apologetic smile.

“It sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

Kenma nods, realizing it was probably a stupid idea to ask in the first place. He has yet to see Akaashi leave his home, so of course he wouldn’t be comfortable coming over just for him. He tucks further into himself, focusing on the game once more.

“But . . . if you’re able, you’re welcome to come here after your party. I’ll make some apple pie.”

Kenma looks up once more, meeting Akaashi’s gaze. He’s still smiling, though it’s softened to something different, and a faint hopefulness shines in his eyes.

“You don’t have to.” Kenma shakes his head, turning his gaze back to his game, as he struggles to keep his cheeks from glowing red.

“I want to. You’ve become an important person in my life, Kozume-kun. Your company is greatly appreciated, and if I can do even a small gesture to show this then I’d like to.”

Kenma kind of wants to bury his face in the pillows beside him, but he simply nods forcefully, causing his hair to swing forward and obscure his face. Briefly, he hopes that Akaashi will push it back behind his ear, but he doesn’t make any attempt to move closer or to touch him.

Kenma’s starting to wonder if the darkness he saw in his aura is somehow connected to the fact Akaashi refuses to touch him.

He’s not sure how to ask about something so personal, so he doesn’t.

Mori gives him a new game, one Kenma’s been eyeing for a while but didn’t have the money to spend on it. It must have cost him months of his allowance, and Kenma steps forward to hug him in thanks. Mori's arms are warm and comforting around him, and he squeezes Kenma gently.

“I wanted to get you more,” he admits. “I feel bad getting you something like this when I know you need new clothes and shoes.”

Kenma can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. “I wanted the game,” he says reassuringly. “Thank you.”

Mori strokes his hand over Kenma’s head briefly, before Haiba interrupts with a loud “Kozume-san! Kozume-san! Open my gift next!”

Kenma pulls away from Mori with a soft sigh, turning to his grinning companion, still not completely used to his height or enthusiasm. But he means well, and Kenma takes the poorly wrapped gift with a murmur of thanks. Opening it, he’s surprised to find it’s the latest model of gaming console. Haiba beams at him, and Kenma feels somewhat sheepish for thinking rude thoughts about him.

“Thank you, Haiba-kun,” he says, keeping his gaze on the gift.

“Do you like it? I picked it out myself! My mom didn’t want me choosing something so expensive, but I told her it was for a very special friend who deserved it!”

Kenma nods, glancing up at Haiba and seeing the happiness and affection in his gaze. When their eyes meet, the smile widens further, and Haiba opens his arms for a hug. Kenma quickly looks over at Mori for assistance, but his friend just looks amused.

Tentatively, Kenma steps up to Haiba, allowing him to wrap his long, gangly arms around him. He’s instantly assaulted by Haiba’s aura, which is bright and colorful and loud. But surprisingly, Haiba hugs him gently, almost as though he’s afraid Kenma will break if he clutches too tightly.

It’s a nice hug, and Kenma allows himself to linger in it perhaps longer than he needs to.

When he goes to Akaashi’s, however, all his nerves are back, punching anxiety into his stomach and chest. He struggles to breathe normally, as he presses the doorbell. When Akaashi opens the door, he ducks inside quickly, not meeting Akaashi’s gaze. He’s already decided that he’ll initiate a hug today, if Akaashi allows him to, and the thought of it makes Kenma’s skin feel thin and shivery.

“How was your party?” Akaashi asks gently, as he shuts the door.

“It wasn’t really a party.” Kenma says, shrugging.

“Well, I hope you had a good time.” Akaashi seems off, Kenma can tell in the way he’s holding himself, somewhat awkwardly, with his fingers twisting. Kenma tilts his head, and Akaashi swiftly hides them in his yukata sleeves, pressed together in front of him. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I have your gift there.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Kenma says, as he follows Akaashi.

He immediately smells the apple pie, and it sits in the center of the table, crust golden brown and crispy, sticky with the sauce. He can feel himself salivating at the sight of it, and he doesn’t even register the neatly wrapped box beside it until he’s right in front of the table. Two plates have already been set out, as well as forks, and Akaashi gently nudges him aside with his elbow before moving to cut out two pieces of the pie, setting them on the plates. He slides one closer to Kenma, before taking his and sitting down across from him.

“Thank you for the food,” Kenma says quickly, before digging in.

It tastes amazing, but Kenma’s not surprised.

“You look pleased,” Akaashi says, looking satisfied.

Kenma nods, mouth too full to respond. He quickly finishes his first piece and then grabs a second, taking his time with this one, savoring every bite. It’s only when he’s halfway through it that he notices Akaashi is watching him, only a third of the way through his first piece. When Akaashi catches his gaze, he looks amused. Kenma’s cheeks feel hot, and he lowers his fork, glancing toward the gift.

“Ah, yes, this is just a little something I got for you.” He pushes the present closer to Kenma. “For the times you come over.”

Kenma picks up the box. It’s light, and when he shakes it he doesn’t hear anything. Perplexed yet curious, he carefully tears off the paper and opens the box. Underneath folds of packing paper is a pair of house slippers, the toes in the shape of cat heads.

Kenma loves them.

“Perhaps this is inconsiderate to say, but you remind me of a cat in a lot of ways. Quiet and aloof, but affectionate in your own way. Your company has made my days much brighter, and your presence always puts me at ease and comforts me, even when we don’t talk. I’m very grateful for your friendship, Kozume-kun.”

Kenma’s neck burns, as he stares down at the slippers in his hands. “Kenma,” he says softly then.

He glances up at Akaashi, noting the startled look on his face, before he smiles. “Kenma,” he repeats, before placing a hand on his chest. “I’m Keiji.”

Keiji.

The overwhelming urge to hug him returns, but Kenma can’t seem to move from his spot at the table, his heart pounding faster than ever. He lowers his gaze to the slippers once more, curling his fingers tighter around them. It’s only when Keiji stands and makes his way to the counter to prepare some tea, that Kenma gets his legs to move. He sets down the slippers very gently on the table before standing and crossing over to Keiji. 

He carefully wraps his arms around him from behind, pressing his face into the space between Keiji’s shoulders blades. Immediately, he feels Keiji stiffen.

“K-Kenma-kun . . .”

“Thank you,” Kenma says softly, giving Keiji a brief squeeze before pulling away.

His face burning, Kenma swiftly retreats from the room, going to the library to bury his face in his new game.

It takes an hour for Keiji to come to him. When he does, he says nothing but simply hands Kenma a cup of tea before stepping over to his desk to open a textbook. He doesn’t speak and neither does Kenma, and they pass the rest of the day in silence.

But Kenma notices Keiji is once more wearing his gloves.

 

>> _I screwed up._ (20:46)

 **Mori**  
_Akaashi-san seems really fond of you. I’m sure it’s nothing you need to be worried about. Just talk it out with him_ (20:47)

>> _I can’t_ (20:48)

 **Mori**  
_Kenma . . ._ (20:48)

>> _I’m never going over there again_ (20:49)

 

The ache in his chest doesn’t lessen, until Keiji calls him one day, two weeks after the hug.

“Kenma-kun, did I do something wrong?”

Kenma doesn’t like talking on the phone. He feels awkward, but he knows Keiji doesn’t have a cellphone, so he endures it. For him.

“No.”

“Then please tell me why you haven’t been over since your birthday?”

“You didn’t like the hug.”

There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, before Akaashi sighs.

“I did like it,” he admits quietly. “You simply caught me off-guard. I’m sorry if you felt rejected by my reaction. I . . . nobody’s hugged me since I was thirteen.”

“Oh.” Kenma’s not sure how to respond to that. He bites his lip, staring down at his toes. He burrows them deeper beneath his pillow.

“I won’t ask you to come over if it’ll make you uncomfortable, but I miss your company very much.” There’s a pause before Keiji adds softly, “I miss _you_.”

Kenma’s heartbeat stutters. _I miss you too._

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” he says instead.

“That would make me very happy. Thank you, Kenma-kun.”

After they hang up, Kenma buries his face in his knees, struggling to breathe normally.

He returns to his routine the next day.

 

When Keiji plays his violin for him, Kenma’s entranced. He decides he could sit and listen to him play for hours. Keiji indulges him, always a faint smile tilting his lips.

 

Keiji's favorite color is gold. He doesn't say why.

Although he admits he likes cats, Keiji has no plans to get one. Kenma is confused, thinking surely that would help stave off his loneliness. But he seems sad when Kenma brings it up, so he doesn't bring it up again.

 

They both enjoy documentaries, though Kenma often falls asleep during them. Keiji always lets him and says he doesn't mind.

 

December 5th marks Keiji’s birthday. Kenma stresses over what to get him as a gift, because nothing seems good enough. Not that he can afford anyway. When he asked Keiji what he wanted for his birthday, his friend had simply replied “your company,” which isn’t helpful at all. Kenma can’t not get him something, especially considering the slippers.

In the end, he finds a record of violin music at a thrift store. He knows it's one Keiji doesn’t own already, because he’s looked through his record collection more than a few times when searching for something to listen to in the library. Mori helps him wrap it, and although he tells Kenma it’s a great gift, Kenma’s heart still beats much too quickly in his chest when he stands bundled up in front of Keiji’s door on the fifth of December.

“Kenma-kun.” Keiji’s smile makes Kenma feel much too warm beneath his layers of clothes, so he quickly skirts around him to enter the house, shedding his jacket and coat and scarf and hat, piling them up on the coat rack near the door. He slides out of his shoes and into the cat slippers before turning to hand Keiji his present.

“Happy birthday.”

Keiji pulls apart the wrapping paper almost reverently, and his eyes widen slightly when he sees the record sleeve. “This is wonderful,” he says genuinely. “Thank you.” He smiles, and Kenma turns his gaze to the ground.

Keiji makes his way to the library, placing the record in the player and setting the needle. The music plays smoothly, without a skip, and Keiji stands beside the player with his eyes closed, head tilted just slightly, as he listens.

Kenma takes a seat on the floor, content to simply watch his friend, as he basks in the comfort of the music. He studies the contented, relaxed lines of Keiji’s face, struck again by how beautiful he is. The way his eyelashes flutter against his pale cheekbones, the way his hair curls just above his ear, the slender curve of his neck. It’s rather unfair how attractive he is, and Kenma feels rather plain next to him. But he doesn’t really mind.

Keiji opens his eyes, catching Kenma’s gaze. His lips twitch, and Kenma quickly moves to lay down on the carpet, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the music. He hears the soft swish of Keiji’s yukata, as he moves to settle on the floor beside him. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that Keiji’s face is most likely right beside his.

His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and take Keiji’s, but he curls them into a fist instead, knowing how poorly his touch was received last time and not wanting to disturb the peace of the moment.

“Kenma-kun.” Keiji’s voice is soft, close by his ear like Kenma predicted.

He suppresses a shudder.

“If you would permit me, there’s something I’d like to try.”

Kenma’s heart speeds faster. When he opens his eyes, he finds Keiji leaning over him, lips pursed, a sense of nervousness about his features. Kenma inhales sharply, wondering if Keiji is about to kiss him. He’s never been kissed before.

He’s not sure how to react, so he simply lies still, every muscle rigid, watching Keiji closely.

“Could I touch your aura?” Keiji asks softly, eyes scanning his face.

Kenma blinks. He’s never heard of that before. He didn’t know that was something a person could do. Touching auras . . . something about that seems intimate, private, which would explain why Keiji appears so anxious, hovering above Kenma like he’s ready to bolt if Kenma makes a wrong move. 

But Kenma trusts Keiji. He knows he’d do nothing to hurt him. Whatever this touching of auras entails, he’s sure it’s completely safe. 

So he nods.

Keiji inhales deeply, slowly reaching across Kenma to plant his hand on the floor by his head. The other does the same on the other side, and he’s so close Kenma can feel his body heat radiating off him through the fabric of his yukata. Very cautiously, Keiji moves his leg, until he’s straddling Kenma’s hips. Kenma’s completely surrounded now, and while that would normally have him struggling to breathe, longing for escape, he feels calm, aside from the faint quickening of his heart rate. 

He’s looking directly into Keiji’s deep green eyes, half-lidded and dark. Keiji licks his lips, and Kenma quickly closes his eyes, feeling as though he might be overwhelmed if he looks at him any longer and not wanting to panic. He takes a couple deep breaths to steady himself, and hears Keiji do the same.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Keiji says, barely above the sound of the violins.

Kenma doesn’t know what to expect.

It starts as a warm feeling spreading through him, starting at his chest and then extending to his extremities. He can tell it’s from an outside source, but he doesn’t open his eyes to see what’s happening. The warmth becomes a tingle, like a stroke of fingertips against his skin. It feels like wisps of something soft is brushing against him, tenderly moving across him from head to foot. He shivers and parts his lips, his breath growing labored as the wisps become heavier. It feels like something is actually moving over him, touching him everywhere and leaving searing heat in its wake.

He gasps, his back arching slightly, as the heat burrows into his veins, sending sparks through him. It’s pleasurable, in a sense. He can feel the fire pooling low in his stomach. Too curious now, Kenma opens his eyes. 

Keiji’s eyes are closed, lips parted as well. His cheeks are flushed, and he pants softly. Golden light surrounds the two of them. Kenma can see the way Keiji’s aura slides against his own, trembling, searching for something. His face feels hot, and he squirms slightly, as Keiji’s aura pulsates around him, pressing into his in such a way that Kenma can physically feel it. He’s lightheaded, his heart pounding quickly, making his own aura thump wildly against Keiji’s. It's out of rhythm at first, but after a few beats he feels the connection click into place, and the two auras merge into a single pulse. Kenma feels the press and release of it through his entire body, throbbing, aching, and it makes his thighs quiver, as his pants tighten.

They gasp in unison, and Keiji’s eyes open. They stare back at Kenma, dark with a longing and a hunger that Kenma’s body responds to with another twitch. He lifts his hands, curling his fingers into either side of Keiji’s yukata. He arches his body once more, yearning for a physical touch. He wants to feel Keiji more, to match the rhythm of their auras beating as one. It’s not enough to just feel this power and pleasure on top of him. He wants it _inside_ him, permeating every inch of him, engulfing him completely.

He tilts his head upward, eyes on Keiji’s lips. For a moment, Keiji moves closer, breathing hot air into Kenma’s mouth. But then his eyes widen, and he pulls back completely, severing the connection so abruptly Kenma stifles a small cry. The warmth disappears, the golden light fading into nothingness, leaving Kenma shivering in the sudden chill that sweeps over him. He blinks, startled, and watches as Keiji stands unsteadily.

“K-Keiji?”Kenma’s voice sounds small and raspy in his own ears, but Keiji won’t look at him. He turns away, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

“You need to leave.”

Kenma sits up slowly, dread filling his stomach, making him feel sick. “What?”

“I-I didn’t know . . . I shouldn’t have done that.” Keiji inhales shakily, fingers gripping and twisting in front of him. “I need you to leave. I’m sorry.”

Kenma pushes himself to his feet, a myriad of strange emotions tumbling through him. The hurt and confusion twist in his chest, tightening it around his heart. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s obvious that Keiji is as rattled as he is, perhaps even more so. He watches as Keiji walks over to the record player, stopping the music and pulling the needle to the side. He doesn’t look back at Kenma.

“Keiji?” Kenma doesn’t like how plaintive he sounds, but he wants to know what’s going on.

Keiji turns to him then, and the pain in his expression is enough to give Kenma pause.

“ _Please_ , Kenma-kun.”

Kenma goes, his mind and body still reeling from everything that just happened. Strangely enough, he doesn’t feel angry. He wonders if Keiji felt that same wanting inside him; he wonders if that had scared him.

When he gets home, he doesn’t text Mori right away. Instead, he researches “touching auras,” wanting to know exactly what happened. The information he discovers does nothing to make him feel better about Keiji’s reaction, though. If anything, it makes him feel worse. From the way it sounded, Keiji had never tried anything like that before. Had he not liked the results?

>> _apparently it’s a ritual performed by two people to deepen their emotional connection. It's not something people just do. Most of the time it's done by people already together. Like a couple_ (22:03)

 **Mori**  
_are you and Akaashi-san a couple now?_ (22:04)

>> _I don’t know. I don’t think so. He seemed really upset by what happened. The site I found says that it’s really rare for two people to merge auras completely on their first try. Usually it takes months of practice at least. He probably didn’t expect it to work_ (22:05)

 **Mori**  
_but it did_ (22:05)

>> _yeah_ (22:05)

 **Mori**  
_well what do you want to do about it?_ (22:06)

>> _idk I don’t want to upset him again. But I want to know why he pulled away like that_ (22:07)

 **Mori**  
_he owes you an explanation, especially if the experience was as intimate as you said. He can’t leave you wondering where you stand now. The bond was made, and he initiated it. He has to deal with the consequences of that. Are you ok?_ (22:08)

>> _idk_ (22:08)

 **Mori**  
_do you want me to come over?_ (22:08)

>> _no_ (22:10)

 **Mori**  
_ok. Text me if you need me._ (22:10)

>> _thanks…_ (22:11)

 

Kenma goes to Keiji’s house twice that week, but when he rings the doorbell and knocks, Keiji doesn’t answer. He doesn’t pick up his phone, either. Kenma feels the loss as a deep emptiness inside him. He ends up over at Mori’s more often, curled beneath his bed, feeling like a part of him has been cut away. Mori strokes his hair and tries his best to comfort him, but he doesn’t completely understand what happened. How could he?

Kenma never thought he’d ever be annoyed with Keiji, but when winter gives way to spring and he still hasn’t contacted Kenma or allowed him back inside his house, he feels himself growing irritated. This isn’t the way you treat friends, regardless of anything that happened between you. Doesn’t he still care about Kenma? Why won’t he explain himself? Or at least let them move on like nothing happened. Can't he even give them that?

Mori notices his growing irritability, and finally declares that they’re going over to Keiji’s place and demanding that he speaks to them. Kenma’s pretty sure that’s a bad idea, considering Keiji can probably knock them off his porch with magic if he wants to. But he goes along with Mori, knowing better than to get in his way once he’s on a mission.

He’s a 165cm ball of rage when he storms up to Keiji’s front door and knocks incessantly. Kenma hovers behind him, holding himself tightly and kind of wishing the ground will open and swallow him. He’s acutely embarrassed, even though he knows Mori only means well.

“Yaku-kun, I don’t think he’s going to open the door,” Kenma says quietly.

“Oi! Akaashi-san! I know you’re in there. Open the door or I’ll blast it open. I can see the wards you put up, and I know how to get around them, so don’t think I won’t!” Mori stands with his arms crossed, glaring at the peephole in the door above him. 

After a moment (in which Kenma finds himself holding his breath), the door opens slowly to reveal Keiji, looking rather worse for wear. Kenma can see the dark circles beneath his eyes, standing out against the paleness of his skin. He’s wearing a robe instead of a yukata, and his hair is mussed. Kenma wonders if he’d been hiding beneath his bed too.

“Ah. You must be Yaku-kun,” he says quietly, his voice and face betraying nothing of his emotions.

Kenma bites his lip, picking at the skin by his nails. Keiji keeps his gaze on Mori, not glancing over at Kenma, even though Kenma knows he knows he’s there.

“Yes, I am,” Mori says flatly. “Where do you get off treating Kozume-kun like this? He considers you one of his closest friends, and I’ll be damned if I let you go on hurting him like this.”

Kenma catches the flinch that briefly crosses Keiji’s face, and that’s all it takes for his heart to soften. _So, he’s in pain too._

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Keiji says softly.

“Apologize,” Mori says, exasperated. “You owe him that, at least!”

Kenma steps forward, placing his hand lightly on Mori’s arm. “It’s okay, Yaku-kun,” he says. “Thank you. I can do this myself.”

Mori glances up at him, worry shining in his large eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Kenma nods. He feels sort of ridiculous, allowing his shorter friend to scold Keiji. Besides, he got Keiji to open the door, and that’s all Kenma needed.

“Fine. I’ll wait out here then,” Mori says, running a hand through his hair.

Kenma gives him a tiny smile, before turning his gaze back to Keiji. He stares at him flatly, until Keiji simply steps back and opens the door wider. Kenma steps through, holding his head up, reminding himself that he’s not the one in the wrong here. He has nothing to apologize for. This was Keiji’s mistake, and he _does_ owe him an explanation.

He kicks off his shoes, noting with slight surprise that his cat face slippers are still by the door waiting for him. He tries not to let that get to him too much, as he slides them on and continues to the kitchen. Keiji shuts the door, following him silently.

“You have quite the presence when you want to use it,” he murmurs softly as they step into the kitchen.

Kenma suppresses a shiver. “Make the tea,” he says instead, taking a seat at the table.

Keiji does without another word. Kenma watches him work, doing the same things he always does, but Kenma notices a slight tremor in his hands. Neither of them say a word, until Keiji finishes with the tea and brings it over to the table, setting Kenma’s cup in front of him.

“I owe you an apology,” he says.

Kenma says nothing, simply takes the cup, curling his fingers around it.

“And . . . I suppose an explanation.”

Kenma stares, keeping his face impassive, as Keiji sits down across from him with a sigh.

“It’s complicated, but that’s no excuse for how I’ve been treating you. You have a right to be angry, and I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting.” He pauses, but when Kenma doesn’t reply, he takes a sip of his tea, setting it down in front of him with a note of finality.

“I didn’t know that the aura connection would work. I read about it in one of the books I received from your shop, and I wanted to try it. I should have explained exactly what it was that I was attempting, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I was nervous. I was afraid you’d say no, but that’s no excuse.” Keiji inhales deeply, exhaling slowly. “I was . . . overwhelmed by the result. When you reached for me, I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to-to take that step with you. But I can’t.”

Kenma frowns faintly, his heart beating just a little faster by that admission. “Why not?”

“My family . . . My family has a curse. It only affects the first born of any Akaashi, but it prevents me from touching any living thing, person or animal, without harming it. My touch spreads a decay, an acid that eats away at skin and bone until it kills. That’s why I’ve never touched you. That’s why I couldn’t let you kiss me. I panicked, and I didn’t know how to explain myself, especially when I was so worked up physically. I hurt you, though, I know I did, and that’s unacceptable.” His fingers tighten around his cup, though he keeps his gaze level. “I don’t know if you can forgive me, but I want to say that I’m truly sorry.”

Kenma isn’t sure what he’s feeling. There’s a pang of sympathy for Keiji’s situation, and disappointment as well. He realizes that this means they can never be what Kenma’s been desiring for some time now. That connection can never become physical, not while this curse remains. The irritation he felt begins to fade, as he starts to understand Keiji’s reaction.

Still, “You could have told me.”

Keiji’s gaze falls to his cup. “I know. I should have. But I’ve never told anyone. Ever. I wondered if you would stay if I told you. My parents left because they were afraid of me. I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.” Kenma shakes his head firmly.

Keiji lifts his head and allows a small smile. “I’m glad. I’d like us to remain friends, if at all possible.”

_Right. Friends. Of course._

“Of course.” Kenma nods. “But you can’t hide things from me anymore. I won’t either. From now on we share everything.” He smirks faintly. “Seems only fair after bonding our auras.”

Kenma thinks he sees a faint flush color Keiji’s cheeks, and he nods. “Indeed.”

They invite Mori inside, and he stays for tea as well. He seems to gradually warm up to Keiji, especially when he shows him the study and offers to teach him some of the things he’s been learning. As Mori exclaims over the rarer artifacts and books, Kenma glances over at Keiji, giving him a small smile.

Keiji smiles in return, and the knot in Kenma’s stomach finally releases.

He can grow to be happy with things like this.

But he wonders if he’ll ever be completely satisfied.

Slowly, he reaches out with his aura, very lightly brushing it against Keiji’s. Nothing in his face or body language gives away that he feels the warm tingle the contact produces, but after a moment Kenma feels him nudge gently back.

It fills him with hope, and he decides he’ll cling to that, however faint.

**Author's Note:**

> The beautiful Irene made art for this fic! You can see it [HERE](http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/post/145114665680/gmuhh-keijis-favorite-color-is-gold-he)
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


End file.
